Happyland
by Michael2
Summary: Colin is mistaken for a wannabe assassin-COMPLETE
1. Grandmaster C

Have you ever been mistaken for someone, like I have? Especially someone famous? Something like that happened to me in October of 1999.  
  
I had a couple of hours to kill on this incarnation of Earth, which was not enough time to find this world's incarnation of Quinn and seek help. Tiring of the library, I walked until I reached the Carson Mall, which was in Carson, California.   
  
There were dozens of shops inside the mall, seeling clothes and toys and gifts and stuff. Sears and JC Penney were the anchor department stores. It was the afternoon, and there werew a lot of people milling about. Half of them were under eighteen years old.   
  
I bumped into this Negro youth near a Kay Bee toy store.   
  
"Excuse me," I said. "My apologies."  
  
The teen began to wealk away when he suddenly turned around. "I know you," he said.  
  
"You do?" I asked.  
  
"You might have shaved off that goatee, but I know you. You're the Grandmaster C!"  
  
Grandmaster C? What was he talking about? "You must be confusing me with someone else," I said.  
  
"I have all your CD's," he said. "I was listening to you since I was little! What brings you all the way to Carson?"  
  
"Hey!" some girl shouted. "It's the Grandmaster C! He's really here in the mall!"  
  
Suddenly, I saw a bunch of teenagers approach me, like they were star-struck or something.  
  
I saw a Sam Goody Music Store. I went inside. There were all these racks filled with albums, in CD, vinyl, and cassette form. Some old CD albums were being sold at a fifteen percent discount.There were racks for VHS video cassettes and DVD's. Stickers on the cash register indicated that Discover, Visa, American Express, and Master Card were accepted.   
  
On the wall were posters advertising new albums. There was a poster of this blond-haired lady named Shakira. There was another poster of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I saw posters for Christina Aguilera and Snoop Doggy Dogg.  
  
And I saw the poster for the Grandmaster C.  
  
He was a man in his mid-twenties, with brown hair and a goatee. He wore a leather jacket and a gold chain and a baseball cap backwards. I recognized him, for the Grandmaster C was none other than Colin Mallory.  
  
He was this world's version of me!  
  
"Sign my math book," said a boy.  
  
"Sign my T-shirt," said a girl.  
  
"Sign my tits," said another girl.   
  
I only had a minute or so left, so I decided to sign the autographs. The Grandmaster C and I have identical handwriting, after all.   
  
I took one of my duplicate's albums, titled 2 Cool 4 U. I went to the cashier, a Negro man in his early twenties.  
  
"Hey," he said. "Nice to have you in my store! Are you here to promote your album? You should have told me you were coming!"  
  
"I'd like to buy this," I said.  
  
"Why would you want to buy what you recorded just a month ago?" asked the cashier.  
  
"Do you want the money?" I asked.  
  
"It will be thirteen fifty."  
  
I pulled out the cash that I had and gave it to him. "You're kidding me," he said. "This isn't real money, and I know you're a millionaire. Just use your thumbprint."  
  
I pressed my thumb on to a pad marked, "ENTER THUMBPRINT HERE.". It then asked me to choose a bank account. I chose Washington Mutual.  
  
the receipt printed out and I signed it.  
  
"Hey Grandmaster C!" shouted the cashier. "Come back anytime."  
  
I went to the back of the store, where the DVD's were. I only had seconds left. I looked at the crowd of the Grandmaster C's fans.   
  
I then felt weightless for a moment.  
  
When I felt the Earth's gravity again, I noticed the crowd of teenagers were gone. The store still had the same layout as before, and the cashier looked the same as before. I had a few days on this world, enough time to find Quinn.  
  
I looked at the album posters on the wall. I saw Shakira, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Christina Aguilera, and Snoop Doggy Dogg in the same order as before.  
  
The Grandmaster C was not there. Instead, in this version of the Sam Goody Music Store in Carson Mall, there was a poster of some lady named Celine Dion.  
  
I walked over to the cashier, noting that the store accepted the same credit cards as before, and even had a thumbprint device.  
  
"May I help you?" he asked.  
  
"You never seen me before?' I asked. "I don't look familiar?"  
  
"Can't say that I have," said the cashier.   
  
"Well, I am the Grandmaster C!" I said. "you never heard of the Grandmaster C?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Look at this," I said, showing him the Grandmaster C album from the previous world.   
  
"So you got a demo CD," he said.   
  
"is there a place where I can listen to this?" I asked.  
  
"If you don't have a discman, you could go to the library. It's on Avalon, north of here. Before you go there, though, you should get Shakira's new album. You know, she's the same age as I am. I would love nothing more than to do her fast and hard!"  
  
"Wouldn't we all," I said. then I left Sam Goody.  
  
The layout of the mall was the same as before; a few of the stores were different. Sears and JC Penney were still the anchors. There were still plenty of teenagers at the mall, and I even recognized some of them as duplicates of the Grandmaster C's fans in the previous world, including the Negro youth I bumped into, and the girl who asked me to sign her tits.   
  
I left the mall and crossed the parking lot. I was walking north on the sidewalk running along Avalon Boulevard. I crossed Del Amo Boulevard and walked north until I reached the public library.  
  
I have been visiting lots of public libraries over the past year, as they often give me a lot of information about the world. I went inside. It looked like any other library, with a librarian's desk and shelves filled with books. There were computer terminals.  
  
there was also a music listening terminal. A sign read, "IF ALL TERMINALS ARE FULL, LIMIT LISTENING TIME TO 30 MIN."   
  
There were plenty of open seats.  
  
I inserted the Arista Records CD into the Sony CD player and put on the headphones.  
  
The Grandmaster C was actually an excellent singer. Maybe I should have been a gansta rapper.   
  
I removed the CD and put it in its case. I decided to go to the Internet terminal and see if I could find Quinn Mallory. Within minutes, I had a hit! He existed. I jotted down his phone number.   
  
I went to a public phone and dialed 0 for the operator. I made a collect call to Quinn's number. I told the operator who I was.  
  
"Colin?" he asked. "Where are you? I haven't seen you in months."  
  
"What I'm gonna tell you will be difficult to explain," I said. "I should see you in person."  
  
"Yes," he said, calmer than when he first spoke to me. "See me in person."  
  
I knew that Carson was quite a distance from San Francisco.   
  
The ATM at the 7-Eleven accepted thumb prints, and since I had a counterpart on this world, I could just use my thumbprint to withdraw from my duplicate's bank account. I withdrew two hundred dollars.  
  
I then went to a Greyhound bus station in Los Angeles. It had twenty-four hour service, and a trip to San Franciso would cost sixty dollars. I paid the sixty dollars and boarded the bus, with only a bag of Doritos to satisfy my hunger.  
  
The Greyhound bus spent the bulk of its journey on U.S. Highway 101. I passed through Ventura, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Salinas, and San Jose. After a six hour journey, the bus got off the 101 and arrived at the bus station. Even at this late hour, it was plenty crowded. There were people lining up at the ticket booths, others sitting on benches,others smoking cigarettes, and others buying stuff from vending machines like the one where I bought the Doritos. The whole place was dirty, and there was trash on the floor.   
  
I went to a Pacific Bell public telephone and called for a taxi. Within minutes, a yellow Ford Crown Victoria taxi arrived, driven by this Russian man.  
  
I got in the taxi. I had seen other versions of this Russian man, all driving taxis. We drove through the traffic. Within minutes, the taxi stopped in front of the apartment where my brother lives. I got off and paid the driver.  
  
I looked upon the apartment building, a white rectangular building with two levels. Quinn lived on the first floor. I went to Apartment 3 and rang the doorbell. The door opened.  
  
"Colin," said Quinn. "We've been expecting you. Come on in."  
  
I went inside his apartment. The living room was covered in a green carpet. There was a coffee table and a Sony color television. A Nintendo 64 was attached to the TV.There were photographs on the table-of my parents and a dark-haired girl. To the left was a small kitchen with a Kenmore refrigerator and a dining table and a stove.   
  
I put down the Grandmaster C CD. "Quinn," I said. "There is something I have to tell you. I may look like your brother."  
  
"And we have something to tell you," someone said. I looked, and saw four people in suits.  
  
"I am Agent Copeland, FBI," said the man. "these are Agents Yenn and Tremelo. Colin Mallory, you are under arrest."  
  
"Under arrest?" I asked.  
  
"You've been evading us for four months," said Yenn. "We've got you now."  
  
I was placed in the back seat of a Ford Crown Victoria and led away. 


	2. Induction into Happyland

I was taken to jail, an experience I was all too familiar with. I wondered what it was between me and jails. I was taken to this inmate processing station. I was photographed. The jailers then stamped my fingerprints in ink and then stamped a piece of paper on it.   
  
I was finally taken to the cell block. The jail was already in lockdown, so the cell was locked.  
  
I sat down on my bunk. The cell was not much, concrete walls and iron bars. I guessed there was nothing else except to go to sleep.   
  
The enxt morning, the chow horn blared. The cell doors were unlocked. I walked to the jail's cafeteria where the inmates ate their breakfast. I had corn flakes and milk and orange juice and toast.   
  
One of the jailers approached me. "Mallory," he said, "Your lawyer has come to visit you."  
  
The jailer led me down a corridor to a room. There was a window allowing me to see into the next room. A sgin informed me that his room is for communication between inmates and lawyers, and nothing said here can be used in a judicial proceeding.  
  
I saw the lawyer, a man dressed in a suit. I recognized him.  
  
Four months ago, one of his duplicates prosecuted me for unspecified crimes against the Aryan race. The whole trial was a sham. I had not been allowed to object to the prosecutor's questions, nor was I allowed to cross-examine witnesses and havw witnesses testify on my behalf. I was sent to a death camp in the Presidio. But it turned out well in the end, for I led an escape.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Mallory," said the lawyer. "I am sure you recognize me. I was your lawyer during the trial."  
  
"Trial?" I asked. "I haven't been tried yet!"  
  
"Yes, you were, You were sitting through it, until you decided to flee and become a fugitive."  
  
"What happened after I fled?" I asked.  
  
"You were convicted on all counts, and sentenced to life imprisonment."  
  
"So what now?"  
  
"Well, you are scheduled to be transfered to Happyland Federal Prison today at 10:00."  
  
"Perfect," I said.   
  
"Listen, I am working on appealing some of the judge's rulings. I believe the Ninth Circuit would overturn your conviction based on the appeal I plan to file. But there is a catch."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The San Francisco D.A. has plans to file state murder charges against you, and to seek the death penalty. He offered to refrain from going for a state indictment if you choose to drop your federal appeals."  
  
"What is your recommendation?" I asked.  
  
"We take the deal. I used to work for the D.A.'s office in San Francisco, and I know that if it went to trial, you woulkd certainly be convicted. If you wish to drop all appeals, fine. But if you want to go one with the appeals as well as face a state trial, I'll fight for you."  
  
Then my duplicate's lawyer got up and left.   
  
At 10:00, I was taken to the inmate transfer area of the San Francisco Federal Jail. It was a courtyard where vehicles would arrive to transport jail inmates.  
  
A bus arrived, with "U.S. BUREAU OF PRISONS" stenciled on it. I boarded the bus, along wioth a few other inmates. The bus then pulled into the street. Within minutes, we were heading south on the 101.   
  
A few hours later, we arrived at Monterrey, California. The bus went to the edge of the town, and I saw a complex of buildings. I then saw a sign.  
  
HAPPYLAND MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON  
  
BUREAU OF PRISONS  
  
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE  
  
I realized I'd be spending the next few days in a prison full of violent criminals.  
  
The bus stopped, and the guards from Happyland arrived to greet the new inmates. We got off and we marched single file to a gate built into a chain-link fence.   
  
We went into a room for inmate processing, like the one in the San Francisco jail. There was a table for fingerprinting and a camera on a tripod. I was once again fingerprinted and photographed.   
  
I was then taken to another room, marked "STORAGE." I was stripped of what personal belongings I had and given a gray prison jumpsuit with a number stenciled on it.   
  
I was then taken to another room that looked like a classroom. I sat down on the desks. I noticed several prison guards moving around. One of them attached something around my neck; it was a collar.  
  
A man in a suit then walked in, flanked by two guards. I noticed one of them was Rembrandt Brown.  
  
"Hello," said the man in the suit. "I am Mr. Redfield, the warden of this prison. some of you will be staying with us for a while, some of you will never leave here alive.  
  
"We the staff of Happyland believe in an orderly environment. You will get what you put into this. If you cooperate with us, you can live here in peace. If not, there are serious consequences.  
  
"You will notice the collars around your necks. Each collar has a small amount of plastic explosive inside. If you try to leave the prison, the collar will explode and remove your head. If you try to remove the collar, it will explode and remove your head.  
  
"You will all be assigned a room. You will share the room with other inmates. And you will get along, or there will be serious consequences. Understood?"  
  
We all nodded.  
  
"Good," the warden said. "Make yourselves at home."  
  
I was led by a guard to the room where I would stay. I had an explosive collar on my neck, which would explode if I left the prison.  
  
In a few days, I would leave this prison, as well as this version of Earth. Whenever I slide, anything on my person goes with me. And that would include a skintight collar. I did not know how the collars work, but sliding to the next world might make it explode, relieving me of my head. I had to get this collar off me somehow before I leave this world.  
  
I went to the prisoner's living quarters. There were several door marked with numbers. I noticed the doors were not made of steel bars, though the windows were.   
  
I finally arrived in my quarters. It seemed I shared this with at least six other men. A video camera was located at the corner. There was one man in there, readiong a book.   
  
"This will be your room," said the guard. "You will go here when lights out is called. Understood?"  
  
"Yeah," I said.  
  
I decided to go to the prison library to find out about what caused me to end up in prison. I crossed the prison courtyard, where there were a bunch of inmates either playing basketball or just loitering. I entered the library, which looked the same as any other library with the front desk and the shelves full of books.  
  
Of course, there were two guards watching.  
  
I went to the Internet terminal. I was required to sign in and to scan my prints. A sign informed me that my Internet usage would be monitored, and I can be removed for security reasons.  
  
I decided to do a Google web search for Colin Mallory. It came up with a lot of stories.  
  
Then a horn rang. I wondered what was going in. One of the guards approached me.  
  
"Get down," he said.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked.  
  
"It's a security horn. All inmates must get down in the ground and submit to search."  
  
Well, I had no intention of getting into any more trouble, so I got down on the blue carpet of the Happyland library. The horn beeped for at least five minutes. I then got up.   
  
After this, I decided to browse the news article Google found. I clicked on the link.  
  
June 11, 1999   
  
Attempted Assasin Convicted  
  
Colin Mallory To be Sentenced July 1.  
  
by Bobby Hawks, Associated Press  
  
SAN FRANCISCO- Colin Mallory, who had escaped from the San Francisco Federal Jail during his trial for his attempt to assasinate King Leonard, was convicted of the attempted assassination of the Crown and the murder of a royal aide in connections with the attempt.  
  
A 12-member federal jury delivered the verdict after three days of deliberation involving over sixty witnesses and one hundred pieces of evidence.   
  
King Leonard was paying an official state visit to Mayor Willie Brown of San Francisco on August 5, 1997 when someone fired shots. The King was hit and rushed to San Francisco General Hospital. Kelly Welles, 26, who worked in the Office of the Crown, was also shot and pronouced dead at the scene.  
  
The San Francisco Police Department and the FBI placed the whole area under lockdown as they sought to find the king's attempted assassin. King Leonard was released from the hospital August 8. He later issued a statement offering condolences to the family of Kelly Welles, who was survived by her parents and her younger sister.   
  
The FBI continued its investigation, and arrested Colin Mallory, then 26, for the attempted assasination of the king and the murder of Kelly Welles. Colin was known to associate with members of a radical Christian group called the Sword of the Lord, which is on the FBI's terrorist watch list. Mallory was indicted on October 29. Bail was set at four million dollars.  
  
Trial began in the U.S. District Court of San Francisco on January 12, 1999, with U.S. District Judge John Nassau presiding. Assistant U.S. Attorney Alan Fontaine prosecuted the case, while San Francsico attorney Ross J. Kelly, hired by the Mallory family, represented the defendant.  
  
Guards at the San Francisco Federal Jail reported Colin Mallory missing. After finding out he escaped, the FBI started a nationwide manhunt.   
  
The trial continued in absentia. Ross J. Kelly filed for continuances, which were rejected by Judge Nassau.   
  
The prosecution rested on May 29. The defense called witnesses in attempt to discredit the testimony of the FBI agents and the Sword of the Lord member who had agreed to testify against Mallory in exchange for immunity.  
  
The case went to the jury on June 8. Three days later, the jury returned with a guilty verdict.   
  
King Leonard, speaking from Castle America, said, "I thank the jury for its service to this country. Now we must focus our efforts into bringing Colin Mallory to justice."  
  
The Welles family was in the courtroom when the guilty verdict was delivered. They hugged each other, with tears going down their eyes. Wade Welles, 26, the younger sister of Kelly Welles, issued a statement to the press.  
  
"We're grateful to you for what you did," she said even as she cried. "I ask the people of this country to help us find my sister's killer."  
  
The Mallory family has not issued a statement on this matter.  
  
Ross J. Kelly promised to appeal the conviction. San Francisco District Attorney Terence Hallinan has announced that he is prepared to file state murder charges against Mallory.  
  
I started reading some more articles, such as the initial news report on the attempt on the king's life, as well as the funeral of Kelly Welles, which was attended by Mayor Willie Brown, California's U.S. Senate delegation, a portion of its House delegation, Castle America's Chief of Staff, and the friends and family of Kelly Welles. I looked at the picture of this world's version of Colin Mallory. He wore long hair and a long beard, and he was in court dressed in a white robe, as if he was trying to look like the Lord Jesus Christ.  
  
And, of course, there was an article about my capture. It mentioned my phone call to Quinn, who then informed the FBI.  
  
I then realized something else.  
  
The true Colin Mallory was out there. And the FBI would not bother to look for him, now that they have me.   
  
I spent the next few hours in my room, reading the book on American history. The British set up colonies in North America, which was granted independence in 1820. Prince Albert became the first King of the United States. King Leonard, his great-great-great-great-grandson, was crowned in 1985. The capital is called Alberton.   
  
I went out to view the environment of this prison. There was plenty of free movement in the prison, all under the watchful eye of the prison guards. People tended to coalesce into race-based gangs. The whites would congregate in one spot, the Negroes would congregate in another spot, and the Mexicans would congregate in yet another spot. I chose to stick with the whites, as I would stick out among the Negroes like a sore thumb or something.  
  
Among the whites, there were various factions. One of these factions simply stuck together and did not care much for the Negroes or Mexicans, while others sported a Nazi-like ideology. I suspected that factions also existed among the Negroes and Mexicans.  
  
"Hello there, brother," someone said to me.  
  
"Yes? I asked. I looked at the fellow; he had long black hair and a long beard.  
  
"I know who you are," he said. "Be strong. We must stick together for Christ."  
  
"Okay," I said.  
  
My eyes followed the bearded fellow. He went to speak with a bunch of people with the same hairstyles as he has. In fact, that was the only racially-mixed group in the entire prison.  
  
The supper horn rang, and I went to the prison mess hall to eat. It was huge, with lots of tables. There was a chow line where inmates received food from the other inmates. it was clear that inmates did all the work in Happyland.   
  
I brought my tray, and I was served chicken and scalloped potatoes. The inmates did the cooking. I went to find a place to sit.  
  
The inmates segregated themselves by race, so I went to sit with the white prisoners.  
  
"That's my seat," someone said to me. I turned, and saw this big old white guy.  
  
"Excuse me," I said. "This seat was empty."  
  
"I was here longer than you." The fellow refused to back down. None of the othwers at the table were willing to let me sit.  
  
I did not want to cause trouble, so I left that table. It was clear that there was no space for me on the white tables, and I obviously could not sit at the Negro or Mexican tables, so I had to sit on the floor. I was not alone in that, for there were plenty of people sitting on the floor.  
  
"You must be new here," a thin Negro fellow said to me.  
  
"Yeah," I said.  
  
"You have to fight to earn a place at the table," he said. "You have to fight to earn your place in line."  
  
I started eating my supper. I was just finishing my potatoes when it happened.  
  
Two of the inmates, arguing over something, started a fistfight. I heard the sound of peopel crashing into tables and benches.   
  
then ther security horn rang. I immediately took to the ground. I looked, and those two prisoners were still fighting! they kept fighting for a minute, and then the guards rushed in and started whacking both inmates with the batons. They then dragged the inmates off. I guessed they would be put in a cage or something.  
  
I later went to the recreation room. Again, there was no place to sit, so I had to stand.   
  
America's Most Wanted was on. The host, John Walsh, reported on my capture. He retold the story of the assassination attempt on King Leonard and my duplicate's flight from the law. I saw Wade Welles make a statement on the show, asking for help in finding her sister's killer. And Quinn was on the show, telling Walsh his decision to call the FBI after being contacted by his brother.  
  
It was lights out, and I had to go to my assigned room. I looked and saw all the beds were full, and some of the inmates were on the floor.  
  
I was too tired to start a fight. I decided to sleep oin the floor.  
  
At least I won't starve to death, I remembered thinking.  
  
It was Sunday, and the prison holds worship services for Christians. Maybe there was someone I coukld talk to. I went to the prison's multifaith chapel.  
  
I recognized the priest officiating over the Mass. He was Father Vincent Feretti. I remember him because one of his duplicates officiated the 1998 Christmas Mass that my brother and I attended. We sang songs and listened to Bible readings. I noticed none of those long bearded men were here. His Homily had the message of how we must never give up hope, and that if we accept the mercy of the Lord Jesus Christ, then he will not hold any of our sins against us, even if it was murder.   
  
I received the Holy Communion, which symbolizes the sacrifice Christ made on the cross. I hoped to have a personal audience with the priest.  
  
Later on, I met with Father Feretti. We were in this room which was reserved for communications between priests and penitents.  
  
"My name is Colin Mallory," I said. "I guess you've heard of me already."  
  
"I've heard about what you done," he said.  
  
"I did not commit the crime I was sent here for. I'm innocent."  
  
"Colin, it is most unwise to lie to yourself. You have nothing to gain by lying to me."  
  
"I am not lying, Father. I am from a parallel universe."  
  
"Explain."  
  
"There are many universes. Each particle, which is what stuff is made of, interacts with its counterparts in parallel universes through quantum interference."  
  
"Do you know what you are talking about?"  
  
"I do not fully understand it. But we have counterparts in other universes. I am the counterpart of this universe's version of Colin Mallory. He was the one who escaped from jail. He was the one who was on trial."  
  
"How did you get here?"  
  
"Something happened to me, and I started travelling to parallel universes. I can't control it."  
  
"Maybe you'll find yourself in a parallel universe when you wake up."  
  
"Listen," I said. "I have this explosive collar around me. If I'm still wearing it when I leave, there's a chance it might explode. Fahter, I would like to at least be transfered to another prison-one which doesn't use these collars. I have this watch here which tells me how much time is left. I only have a few days."  
  
"This is a fanstastic story," said the priest. "There may be something I could do. Just have faith, like the Apostle Judas."  
  
"Judas?" I asked. "You mean Judas Iscariot, the guy who betrayed Jesus?"  
  
"Betrayed?" asked Feretti. "You should study the Bible more often. Judas was chosen by the Lord to lead the Apostles after His ascension. He was martyred in Rome over nineteen hundred years ago."  
  
That was interesting. I got up and left.  
  
I went back to the general area of the prison. Suddenly, I was surrounded by some of the bearded men.  
  
"You were talking to that priest," said one of them.  
  
"I needed to discuss something," I said.  
  
"That priest is an agent of Satan! He teaches false religion. he is leading the inmates here to Hell!"  
  
"I think you shouild apologize. You are way out of line here and..."  
  
He punched me. This was a fight.  
  
I have gotten into fights over the past year of sliding, so I fought, using the techniques I honed both in practice and actual combat. I took on a platoon of kromaggs, I sure as hell would not let a bunch of losers beat me.   
  
then the security horn sounded, and I got down on the ground. But then one of the guards picked me up and I was taken away. 


	3. The Sword of the Lord

After the fight with the long-bearded fellow, the guards took me somewhere. It has a cell block labeled "Disciplinary Block."  
  
I was locked in a cell. The first thing I noticed that it was dark. There were no windows in this cell. I coiuld not hear anything outside the cell, which implied that the walls were soundproof. There would be no way to communicate with anyone outside.   
  
I sat there for God knows how long. The only thing I felt was the hard floor. It was not a comnfortable place, like a hotel room in the Dominion.   
  
I did not like being put here. But how can I blame the guards? How can they know I am an other-dimensional duplicate of a murderer?   
  
Suddenly, light appeared. There must be a slot in the door or something.  
  
"Here is your meal," said someone, whom I could not see clearly. "At least you won't go hungry."  
  
I took a look. It was just water and saltine crackers. That was it, just enough food to keep me alive. I just ate it, enjoying the sensation of eating.   
  
I spent what seemed to be an eternity in the cell, alone in my thoughts. I wonder if Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie are enjoying themselves. I was separated from them back in June, and they made an attempt to retrieve me in August, but that was two months ago.  
  
Then I wondered if they were even still alive. I mean, they might have gotten killed during one of their trips. They might have been captured by the Kromagg Dynasty. I mean, my last encounter with the kromaggs was just last month, and I barely got out of that place with my life.   
  
Now is not the time to despair.  
  
That thought sounded as if a voice were calling out to me from across the dimensional spectrum.   
  
They are alive and well. They are still looking for you.  
  
Well, I can't argue with a voice in my head. Was I going crazy? Was whatever made me unstuck is making me go insane? Did taht encounter I had with Rembrandt and Maggie in August just imagined.  
  
Here, in this cell, the only reality was darkness and silence. There was no way to open the door.   
  
Then the slot in the door opened, and I was served dinner, which was saltine crackers and water. I ate my dinner, and then I remained in my cell, with nothing to do or to look at. The cell was very effective in isolating me from the rest of the world. The Kromagg Dynasty couild be waging war on this world, and I would not have a clue about it.  
  
Finally, the door opened. the light hurt my eyes, and I had to adjust. I saw a guard wearing a hockey mask in addition to the guaard uniform.  
  
"Your time in this block is up, Mallory," said the guard. "You may leave."  
  
I went up and looked outisde. It was already dark out! I must have spent more than ten hours in that cell! I was just glad to be out, to breathe the fresh air.   
  
I was walking back to my cell block when I heard someone.  
  
"Hello," he said. I recognized the voice; it was the same guy I got into a fight with earlier today, after my meeting with the priest.   
  
"It would be unwise to resume the fight," I said.   
  
"I just want to ask your forgiveness, Brother Colin," said the long-bearded man. "I should have remembered that you were on our side. You were framed, just as Jesus was framed."  
  
"I take it you sympathize with the Sword of the Lord," I said.  
  
"Yes, I met up with them four years ago. They opened my eyes to the truth."  
  
"What did you learn from them?"  
  
"I learned that the American Crown and the Christian churches are of the synagogue of Satan. They are like the Saduccees and Pharisees of Christ's day. They preach Christ and serve the Devil. They persecute true Christians, Christians like us."  
  
"Were you sent to prison for being a Christian?"  
  
"I am serving time here for insurance fraud," said the bearded fellow. "Before meeting with the Sword of the Lord, I was just living for myself and my sinful desires. Now I live for Christ, and if He wills it, I shall die for Him!"  
  
"Do you trust these people?" I asked. "I mean, Jesus Himself said there would be false prophets and false teachers. Ye shall know them by their fruits, He said."  
  
"The Sword of the Lord showed me who the false prophets and the false teachers are."  
  
"Do you think I tried to kill the King?"  
  
"We believe you have been framed by a Satanic conspiracy. The king just faked his injuries, and a CIA sharpshooter shot that lady who was with him. They then made it look like someone from the Sword of the Lord did it. The king, the media, the churches, and the FBI were all behind this. But let me say this. If you had shot and killed the king, true Christians like me would sing hymns in praise of your faithful service to Jesus Christ!"  
  
"What is your name?" I asked.  
  
"I am Brother Ryan," said the bearded fellow. "And you are free to call me Brother, for we are brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus! Tomorrow morning at breakfast, you may sit with us, rather than on the floor."  
  
Then Ryan left, and I went back to my room. As usual, all the beds were taken.  
  
"I saw you get into that fight with that Jesus freak," said this skinheaded man. "You sure kick ass."  
  
"Can I get one of the beds?" I asked.  
  
"Go sleep on the floor, Jesus freak."  
  
So I did.  
  
Just before I did, I wondered if my duplicate had been framed. One thing I learned is that things are not always what they seemed, and can lead in unexepcted directions.  
  
I was woken up by the morning horn the next morning. The guards assigned by the cell block walked down the hallway.  
  
"Here is your assigned work detail," said the guard. "You are all assigned to the prison garden. Report to the garden at 9:30 A.M."  
  
That was about two hours from now. I decided to go eat breakfast.  
  
It was certainly a change to actually sit on a mess hall bench as I ate my breakfast. These long-bearded men, whom the prison population dubbed Jesus freaks, all sit here.   
  
"Welcome, Brother Colin," said Brother Ryan. "We are all graced by the presence of a servant of Jesus Christ."  
  
"Uh, thank you," I said. "I'm just lucky to have a place to sit."  
  
So I sat down as I ate my scrambled eggs. I heard stories from the other Swordsmen of the Lord, as they called themselves. Some of them had ben convicted of activities related to that group, others were converts who were sent here for unrelated federal crimes.  
  
"So, Brother Colin, tell me about yourself," said Ryan.  
  
"Well, I was born in San Francisco," I said.  
  
"So you were born in the Pit of Satan," one of the Swordsmen said.   
  
"If you say so," I said. "I started moving around, becoming an itinerant. I last lived in El Segundo."  
  
"So that was where you were hiding out," said one of the Swordsmen. "Where were you when the king was shot?"  
  
"What day was that?" I asked.  
  
"I think it was on August 5, 1997," said Ryan.  
  
"I was living in El Segundo at the time," I said, which was true.  
  
"So it's true," said Ryan. "The FBI did frame you. They got that little traitor to lie to the court against you, just as the priests and rulers got two witnesses to lie against the Lord."  
  
"I wonder where he is," I said.  
  
"The FBI probably hid him somewhere in the country," said one of the Swordsmen. "But they can not hide from God! If he does not pay for his treachery in his life, he shall pay for it in the next life. There is no room in Heaven for cowards and traitors!"  
  
"Truly, the FBI is an agent of Satan," said Ryan. "May God deliver his holy judgement upon this ungodly kingdom."  
  
After finishing my breakfast, I went to the garden. Brother Ryan wen t with me, for he was in the same block, though not the same room, as I was.   
  
There were three guards armed with truncheons. According to what I heard, the food grown here is given to homeless shelters. We were all given hoes by the guards.  
  
"Well," I said to Ryan, "at least we're helping to feed the poor. That is what Jesus would want us to do."  
  
He said nothing.  
  
"Hey Jesus freak," my skinheaded roommate said to Ryan. "Why don't you go get a haircut. I could even cut your hair for you, make you look all pretty."   
  
The other inmates laughed, as well as the three guards watching us. Ryan lifted up his hoe, looking at the skinheaded fool.  
  
"No," I said to Ryan. "It's not worth it. Be joyful that you are worthy to suffer shame in the name of Christ."  
  
So we started using our hoes to dig up weeds. And boy, where those weeds entrenched! I began sweating due to the labor. We lossened the soil, and picked up the various weeds, some of them thorned.The security horn rang once during our work detail, and we lied face down on the dirt for a whole minute. It reminded me of the parable told by Jesus concerning wheat and weeds, although I do not know if the Son of God used this parable in this dimension. Over all this hoeing, I must have sweated a gallon.  
  
"All right," said one of the guards. "You are relieved now."  
  
We all decided to take a shower before going to eat lunch. I felt the lukewarm water spray against my body. I remembered the time that Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie temporarily retrieved me while I was taking a shower. I hoped that they would wait until I was dressed before.  
  
I noticed that Ryan was in the stall next to me. I held on to the soap, making sure not to drop it. I made sure not to look at any of the other men, or at least any part of them below the waist.  
  
"Well, well," said the skinheaded man, whose voice I recognized. "Two Jesus freaks in the shower together. How touching."  
  
"Yeah," said this big Negro man with a huge Afro. "Maybe they could make sweet love to each other."  
  
I saw Ryan making his way to the two men. I put my hand on his shoulder to warn him not to engage in such foolish behavior.   
  
"Ooh," said the skinheaded man. "The Jesus freak is touching his boyfriend. Here is something to get you two lovebirds started."  
  
I saw a bar of soap bump at my feet. The skinheaded man already left.   
  
I ate lunch at the Sword of the Lord table again. Today's lunch was hamburger.  
  
"I should have struck that man," said Ryan. "How dare he insult a servant of Christ!"  
  
"Just let it go," I said. "Fighting him would have only put you in that isolation cell, or worse."  
  
I decided to go to the Internet to research the Sword of the Lord. The Google search popped up m,any hits.  
  
I clicked on the first hit, and I got a message saying that acess to this page or server is forbidden by the guest. This must be a website that sympathizes with the Sword of the Lord.   
  
Another link led me to a Department of Justice web page. It contained the FBI intelligence on the Sword of the Lord.   
  
According to the web site, the Sword of the Lord was founded in 1992 by the Reverend Paul Hill, who claimed that America was na amoral, anti-Christian nation and the churches were traitors to Christ. He once had a radio show who he managed to weave various government acts into a satanic conspiracy. He actively urged the overthrow of the Crown and replacing it with a theocracy that would enforce Christian morality.   
  
Mr. Hill went into hiding after his followers were implicated in bombings and assassinations in New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Cleveland. It was because of those bombings that the FBI put the Sword of the Lord on a terrorist watch list. They were implicated in the assasination attempt on King Leonard in 1997 and a bombing in Mexico last September where Pope Judas XXI was killed.   
  
Then a voice on the speaker announced the visitation schedule. I heard my name.  
  
I wonder who came to visit me.  
  
I went to the visitee's room. It was adjoined to the visitor's room with a window. A guard was posted in the room  
  
My visitor was none other than Quinn Mallory.   
  
"Hello," I said, speaking through a phone.   
  
"Hi, Colin," said Quinn. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Well, I have food and shelter and running water," I said. "At least I won't starve to death in here."  
  
"That's nice," he said.  
  
"How are you doing?"  
  
"Well, I'm in medical school, and I work as a waiter to pay my bills. I hope to get my doctorate next year."  
  
"Why did you come here?"  
  
"Well, you are my brother. I'm still in contact with your lawyer Mr. Kelly. He's submitted his brief to the Ninth Circuit. I am still wondering how you got mixed up with those people. I can not understand why you would associate with people who commit acts of terrorism while claiming Christ wills it. Katie didn't want to come along because she's still in shock over the events of the past two years."  
  
"Do you think I tried to kill the king?"  
  
"I don't know what to think, Colin."  
  
"I am innocent of that crime. I can explain. Have you heard of parallel universes?"  
  
"Physics was my hobby., but why are you discussing it? You said that physics was heresy, the teaching of the Devil."  
  
"Well, when you shine a beam of light through a pair of slits in a barrier, it creates a pattern."  
  
"Because of wave interference."  
  
"Right. And when the light goes through one photon at a time, it makes this same pattern."  
  
"You sure know a lot about science for someone who dismissed it as heresy."  
  
"The reason these individual photons makes this pattern is because of interference with its counterparts from parallel universes."  
  
"Why are you discussing this with me?"  
  
"Because I am your brother's counterpart from another universe!" I shouted. "That is why I look the same, and have the same fingerprints and genetic code! I am in this prison while he is out there somewhere. I have this collar around my neck, set to explode if I leave this prison."  
  
"So how did you get here?" asked Quinn. "Take the next flight to another universe?"  
  
"There was an accident with a device," I said. "I keep traveling to other universes. In a few days, I will go to another universe. If I still have this collar on, it might explode!"  
  
"Something is wrong here."  
  
"Yeah, I'm serving time for a crime my duplicate here committed. Listen, I left a CD on your coffee table in your apartment. It is done by an artist called the Grandmaster C. That's one of my duplicates, Quinn."  
  
"Katie was right," said Quinn. "I shouldn't have come." He then left withoiut saying goodbye.  
  
"Excuse me," said the guard. "You will have to leave now."  
  
So I did. 


	4. Crazy! Crazy!

Life settled into a routine for me here in Happyland. Each morning, the guard for my block would inform me of the duties for the inmates of my block. These duties could include sweeping the floor, or working in the kitchen, or maintenance. the inmates did all the work for the prison. About the only thing they did not do was maintain the prison's security system, which included the explosive collars.   
  
The Happyland Chaplain Service held Bible studies each night. Most of the Swordsmen of the Lord attended these Bible studies, and they liked to quote from the Bible. The Manaul of Conduct for Inmates allowed each inmate to have a copy of the Holy Bible.   
  
The Bible told the basic story of humanity's fall from grace, and the redemption by the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. The actual details were different from the Bible I read when I was a kid.   
  
For example, there was a scene where during the trial of Jesus, Judas Iscariot trashed the place with a woodsman's axe, and was about to kill the Jewish high priest when the Lord commanded him to stop. There was also an Old Testament story of how God caused a volcanic eruption which scattered an army of invading Philistines, thus allowing the people of Israel to achieve victory.   
  
I also received mail. Almost all of the mail I have seen were from Sword of ther Lord sympathizers. Some of them expressed their belief that a Satanic or atheist conspiracy framed me for a crime I did not commit, while others praised me for trying to kill the king. There was hate mail too. There were letters wishing that I would roast in Hell for trying to kill the king, and others condemning me for failing to kill the king.  
  
There were only two days left for me when I received mail that was not praising me or condemning me in regards to the act my duplicate was convicted of four months ago. It was a letter from his defense attorney. It came in an evelope titled "Privileged Communication".   
  
Mr. Mallory,  
  
My office received the decision of the three-judge panel from the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. They ruled that the conviction should stand.  
  
I spoke with D.A. Hallinan, who filed a friend-of-the-court brief in opposition to the appeal. He still intends to seek the death penalty for the murder of Kelly Welles. He is repeating the same offer as before. He will not seek an indictment for the murder of Kelly Welles if you choose to drop the federal appeals.   
  
I intend to appeal to the full circuit. I believe they will make a decision on the appeal no later than the twenty-second of this month. Please contact me if you choose to meet with Mr. Hallinan on his offer.  
  
Ross J. Kelly, Esq.  
  
I would be gone before the circuit court even decides whether or not to hear Kelly's appeal. By that time, I might be dead. I ripped up the letter and threw it into a weastebasket. There has to be a way. I could get transfered to another prison that uses these collars. I decided to read my usual share of fan mail and hate mail. I sure am hearing from every kook in the country.   
  
There was one person whom I could ask for a transfer. I just hoped that he would be in the right mood.  
  
I walked over to the inmate entrance of the administration building. I sat in the waiting room and asked to see the warden. I told the secretary, sitting behind a thick glass window, that I wanted to see the warden concerning a prisoner transfer.  
  
"Okay," said the secretary. "The warden would like to see you."  
  
A guard came in and put arm and leg restraints on me. I could walk, but not run.  
  
"It is regulations," said the guard. "Any prisoner who enters this area must be appropriately restrained."  
  
I was led through the halls of the administration building. It looked like any old office building. I was led through a small office, which was the office of the warden's secretary, and then I entered the warden's office.  
  
The office was huge, overlooking the prison yard. The furniture, which included a wooden desk and a leather chair, looked quite expensive. There was a photograph of someone on the wall, maybe some important federal official. I took a seat.  
  
"Mr. Mallory," said the warden, a man dressed in a suit. "I am Mr. Redfield. As you might already have guessed, I am the warden."  
  
"Sir," i said, "I came here to request a transfer."  
  
"Do you think you are in a position to give demands?"  
  
"No, sir. I certainly am not asking to be released. I just ask to be transfered to another prison, one that does not use these explosive collars."  
  
"We have thiose explosive collars to deter escape. You yourself escaped from the federal jail while being tried for attempted assasination. You, more than anyone else in here, deserve to wear that collar."  
  
"Oh, and what did I do to deserve to be fitted with a collar around my neck set to explode?"  
  
"I don't know," said Redfield. "I have a hunch it might have something to do with the fact that you tried to kill the King of the United States, and killed one of his aides in that attempt, and that during your trial, you managed to escape from jail. Yes, your departure from your own trial made it difficult for your lawyer to defend you in court."  
  
"I did not do those things, sir."  
  
"That's right," said Redfield. "Everybody in here is innocent. Either they were framed by the FBI, or they had some lame excuse to do what they did. There are a lot of Internet sites about you, Mallory. I can access them because my web access is not limited by security, unlike the Internet terminals used by the inmates. There are people who say you were framed, people who wish you killed the king."  
  
"I receive those messages from the mail," I said. "Listen, it's going to be a little hard to explain. Now, take a barrier to light, with two slits to allow light to pass through. It creates a complex pattern because of wave interference. Now, what happens when you send only one photon at a time."  
  
So I explained to Redfield about parallel universes, how they interact, and how I am from a parallel universe. I told him how my parents hid me in another universe because of a war between humans and kromaggs, how I met my brother, and slid with him, and how something happened that causes me to be unstuck.  
  
"I just need this collar off," I said. "I'll even stay in this prison until I slide out.  
  
"I have heard enough," said Redfield. "I will discuss this with my staff."  
  
A guard then came and escorted me out of the building.  
  
The next morning, some guards came to my block. Among them was Rembrandt Brown, who was head of security.  
  
"Come with us, Mallory," Rembrandt said.  
  
They escorted me across the prison yard, and back to the inmate processing center in the adminsitration building.  
  
I was fingerprinted and photographed, and then Rembrandt took a key and put it against my collar and removed it.  
  
This was it. My collar was off.  
  
"Am I being released?" I asked.  
  
"No," said Rembrandt. "You're going to the Gate Haven Insanity Quarantine Center in Daly City. We've discovered evidence that you may be insane."  
  
"You think I am insane?" I asked.  
  
"That will be up to the psychiatrists; they will get to the bottom of this stuff about parallel worlds you keep talking about."  
  
After that, they put me in this van which then took me from Happyland.  
  
It was a few hours before the van finally parked. I got out, escorted by U.S. marshals. I saw a huge building which could only be the Gate Haven Insanity Qurantine Center.  
  
On the outset, the place looked nice, with manicured lawns and gardens. The main building was tall and imposing. The marshals escorted me into a side entrance. I was taken to a processing station where I was fingerprinted and photographed. None of the guards or staff placed a collar on my neck, explosive or otherwise.  
  
I was taken to the cafeteria where I was served a breakfast similar to the one I was served back in Happyland. I was given plastic utensils. After I finished my meal, the guards took me away. As they led me, I looked through a glass window into a room. I could see all sorts of men and women driolling and banging their heads on the wall and banging the ground with their fists. A white-caoted doctor and a guard stood watch inside. I could see the guard was amused by the behavior of these nutcases.   
  
I was put into this padded room with only a cot to sleep in. I lay there. I arrived in this world in a music store, and now I am in a mental hospital. it was about thirty minutes later that the guards came and took me to another place. It was a small room with a table and two chairs. I sat down on one of the chairs.  
  
Some doctor came into the room. "Hello, Mr. Mallory," he said. "I am Dr. Malcolm White. I am a psychiatrist here at Gate Haven."  
  
"Okay," I said. "Why am I here?"  
  
"You are here for a thirty day psychiatric evaluation," said Dr. White. "The evaluation was requested by Warden Refdfield of the Happyland Maximum Security Prison. He cites a conversation you had with him yesterdsay and a conversation you had with your brother Quinn. This place, as you might have guessed, is to house federal inmates and criminal defendants for psychiatric evaluation, and to shelter, feed, and treat those judged insane by a federal court."  
  
"How long will I be here?" I asked.  
  
"I can not say for certain. I will make an evaluation on whether or not you are insane. If I find that you are not insane, you will be sent back to prison. If I find you insane, this will go to court, and they will decide whether or not you go to prison or receive treatment. Now, Mr. Mallory, let us begin."  
  
He asked me about myself, and I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.   
  
"I know about your background, Mr. Mallory," said Dr. White. "You were attending college in Stanford University when you got mixed up with the Sword of the Lord. You dropped out and cut off contact with your family. They did not hear from you until you were arrested for attempting to assasinate King Leonard. It seems that you are familiar with science fiction, and amy even have some knowledge of physics, which is why you are here now. Perhaps you, not being able to deal with confinement in prison, invented this fantasy life, pretending to be another person. There are people in this institution who claim to be such people as Gaileo, Hitler, or Elvis,or some fictional character from a TV show, although this is the first case wherre you claim to be another version of yourself from a parallel universe. I will need to study you to determine if your beliefs will prevent you from functioning in society."  
  
"As if spending my life in prison with a collar around my neck counts as functioning in society," I said.  
  
"Well, you still have a sense of humor. Now, I am conducta Grumann test."  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"You will look at ink blots, and tell me what real-world objects they most resemble."  
  
So that is what I did. Some of them did not resemble anything, while others looked like horses and sports stadium and a human face. One even looked like a wormhole to another dimension.  
  
"That will be enough for today," said Dr. White. "We will be monitoring your behavior."  
  
I was escortedto another room in the main building. Along the way, I saw another patient being escorted by guards.   
  
"You," he said. "You were the one who tried to kill me!"  
  
"Let's go," said a guard.  
  
"Bow before your king!"  
  
I looked at him as he was led away.  
  
They had me examined by this biog old device used to scan my brain. After that, I was released. I had a lot of free movement, much more than I had in Happyland.  
  
I decided to go to the recreation room. There were all sorts of people there. Most of them did not look insane, although there was this little lady who kepot counting her fingers and toes over and over.  
  
"You new here?' some blond-haired lady asked.  
  
"Yeah," I said. "I am in day one of my thirty-day psych evaluation."  
  
"I'm in day sixteen. My name is Gillian."  
  
"My name is Colin."  
  
Some fellow with slick black hair came into the room, acting as if he was a celebrity. He started singing a song.  
  
"That is our resident Elvis impersonator," said Gillian.  
  
I listened to the faux Elvis sing, and I noticed that he was actually a pretty good singer. There was actually applause after he stopped, even from the two guards watching the place, and it was not because he did stop.  
  
"Sing some more," someone shouted.  
  
""Dedicate the next one to Kathie!" someone else shouted.  
  
"He's a pretty good singer," I remarked.   
  
"The Prince of all Saiyans agrees," said some fellow with spiky black hair. "He should be a singing competition with the real Elvis Presley."  
  
"What is your name?" I asked the man.  
  
"I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans," he said.   
  
"That's not his real name, Colin," whispered Gillian.  
  
"Foolish woman," said Vegeta, clenching his fist. "I have in my body the power to destroy this pathetic excuse for a planet!"  
  
"Do not mind him," said Gillian. "Vegeta here is not as annoying as the lady who pretends to be Bugs Bunny. He is actually a nice fellow."  
  
"Hmph," said the man pretending to be Vegeta.  
  
"So what brings you here?" I asked.  
  
"It started with the IRS accusing me of tax fraud, and now here I am," said Gillian. "Just because spirits talk to me doesn't mean I can't be a productive member of society!"  
  
"And you can only see them," I said.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then perhaps you should not reveal them to anyone, since they only choose to speak with you."  
  
"Colin, one of them communicated to me. They told me that Rembrandt and Maggie are okay."  
  
"How did you know about them?" I asked.  
  
"he told me."  
  
I knew whom she was referring to. There was this man who had been contacting me in my dreams since I became unstuck. Now he revealed himself to this woman in this institution. It shpowed that he did not exist in my head. He had an external existence independent of me. I did not imagine him.  
  
I went to the library. There was an Internet terminal here, and I quickly looked up the Sword of the Lord. In Happyland, there was web censorship, but none existed in Gate Haven.  
  
I came across the writings of the Reverend Paul Hill, who was the guy who founded the group. he wrote of satanic conspiracies attempting to rule the world, and wrote an article arguing that the Pope was the Antichrist. I decided to read one of his articles, which was a commentary in American Christian Magazine, dated in 1990.  
  
Why Has God Abandoned America?  
  
by the Rev. Paul Hill  
  
We hear bad stories on the news, about how millions of American jobs are exported to foreign countries, how crime is rampant on the streets while bleeding-heart judges turn criminals loose on lame excuses, how our politcal leaders serve themselves rather than the people. Some people question whether or not God exists, and why a loving God would allow this happen.   
  
The answer is clear, we Americans have abandoned God. We despised his commandments, committing every form of immorality, giving in to greed and lust. We show no respect even to our parents, nor do we show charity to the less fortunate. We murder others for wearing the wrong-colored clothes, or to take another person's shoes. We steal from others for the sole purpose of hurting them, not because we want what we have stolen.  
  
For these reasons, God has abandoned this immoral country. When God left, Satan and his spawn took over. Satan, together with his servants the King of the United States and the false prophets and teachers who lead American churches, has installed a satanic world order in this country, and he intends to afflict us as he does the inmates in Hell.  
  
There is only one solution. Repent. Without repentance, Satan will own us.  
  
I read his other tracts, all claiming that America is a satanic nation.  
  
I decided to go back to my room. Along the way, I saw this room fulls of photiograpsh of this young woman. I had to admit that she was actually pretty. I noticed there was this dried, flaky substance on the pictures.  
  
"you looking for him," said a guard making his rounds.  
  
"Uh, I wonder why this guy has all these pictures," I said. "Is this his wife or girlfriend or something."  
  
"That's what he says. When he was in prison, he started writing sexually explicit love letters to Katherine Heigl. Those letters became threatening. He was sent here and the court found him insane. He devotes all of his life to her, whom he never met and only saw on TV. How pathetic."  
  
"Then this stuff must be..."  
  
"Love juice," said the guard.  
  
I went to the restroom to watch my hands.  
  
I was out in the yard. Just like the front, the grounds were manicured. There were cats roaming about, and some of the patients were feeding the cats. I saw the guy who pretends to be Vegeta practicing kicks and pitches, and pointing his fingers as if he were firing something from them.  
  
One of the guards approached me. "Mallory," he said. "you have a visitor."  
  
I wondered if Quinn or that lawyer came to visit me in this quarantine center. But he did not take me to a visitation room. Instead, he took me to the loading area, where there was a Ford Econovan. The staff was loading the van.  
  
This bearded man came out of the van. "Are you Colin Mallory?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, that's me," I said.  
  
"We've never met before; I am Brother Randall Simmons. Get inside the van; we have come to free you."  
  
"Okay," I said. I saw Randall hand the guard something. I got in the van with the dirty laundry. I heard the engine start and we drove off. 


	5. High, Jack!

I was sitting in the van for a few minutes when I felt it come to a stop. the doors opened and Randall appeared.   
  
"Here," he said, giving me some new clothes. "Change into these. You do not want to be seen out with a mental patient uniform."  
  
I changed into the blue shirt and black pants Randall provided me. I then got out of the van. I saw we were parked in an alley. Randall led me to a parking garage where a green Pontiac was parked.   
  
"It may look old," he said, "but it still runs good."  
  
I got into the front seat of the Pontiac. We got onto a freeway. I could see that we were on U.S. Highway 50, heading east towards Stockton.   
  
"How did you know I was here?" I asked.  
  
"We were watching you ever since we found out you were still alive,"he said. "It is by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ that you survived. Now we can join Father Paul."  
  
"Paul?' I asked. Then I remembered. He must be referring to the Reverend Paul Hill, founder of the Sword of the Lord.   
  
We drove through Livermore, Tracy, and Stockton. At Stockton, we got on State Highway 4 and then headed south on U.S. Highway 99. We drove for a few more hours until we reached Merced. It was sunset by then. He stopped at an Exxon station to fill up the gas tank.  
  
"How did I get out of jail?" I asked. "There must have been high security there."  
  
"There are many people who devote their lives to mammon," answered Randall. "We use them to fulfill the will of the Lord."  
  
We hopped back into the car and headed east on Highway 120, heading to the Sierra Nevada mountains. The city of Merced was soon replace by the forests on the western slope of the mountain range. Randall made a left turn on a side road and we continued down that road for a few more minutes.   
  
then he parked the car. "Here we are," he said.  
  
It was a clearing in the forest with a huge fishing lodge. I saw some pickup trucks and a boat on a trailer. Randall and I went inside the lodge.   
  
There were bearded men and some women in there. One of them stood out.  
  
"Brother Colin Mallory," said the man who stood out. "I am pleased that Christ speared your life to serve Him again."  
  
"Your Holiness," said Randall, "Brother Colin is truly blessed. Only through the grace of God did he manage to get out of that prison and to a quarantine center where we could get people out more easily. Of course, we should thank the guard who assisted in his escape, even if he was only serving mammon."  
  
"You must be Paul Hill," I said.  
  
"Father Paul Hill, Vicar of Christ," he said. "Chosen defender of the faith."  
  
"How did you spring me out, Father?" I asked.  
  
"We were watching your every move since we knew you were alive," said Hill. "We have contacts inside prisons. We also paid off the staff. Amazing how useful slaves to mammon can be to Christ and His loyal followers."  
  
"So what is up?" I asked.  
  
"Now that you are here, I believe it is as good a time to strike against this satanic nation! Tomorrow we leave early in the morning."  
  
"You know, Brother Colin," said Randall, "I thought you had been martyred in yoiur strike against the Antichrist in Mexico last month. But Jesus had spared you."  
  
Last month? Then I remembered the bombing in Mexico which killed the Pope.  
  
My duplicate was behind the bombing. And he was dead and most likely roasting in Hell.  
  
I discreetly examined by surroundings. There was a television in the room, as well as couches and tables and clocks.   
  
I noticed there were no phones, either in the living room or the kitchen.  
  
These guys were planning something. I had to stop them. But how?  
  
My only chance was to join them for the moment.  
  
Then someone came in with paper bags from Kentucky Fried Chicken.  
  
"Dinner is served," he said.   
  
"Everyone eat," said Hill. "Let us feast on what the Lord has been generous enough to provide for us."  
  
So I had some fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and a Pepsi. This version of the colonel sure knows how to cook his chicken.  
  
"Brother Colin," said Paul Hill, "may I see you outside."  
  
So the two of us went outside. It was dark, and I could see all the stars in the night sky.   
  
"Did the Lord say anything to you after your attack on the Antichrist?" he asked. "Why he spared your life?"  
  
"No," I said.   
  
"Why did you go back to your brother?" asked Paul.  
  
"I wanted to see him again," I said, which was truly the reaosn I went to see Quinn.  
  
"He turned you over to the FBI. He is a traitor to you and a traitor to Christ." He clenched his fast. "I am your true father, and these people here are your true brothers and sisters. We are your family, Colin. Tomorrow, you shall be reunited with the Lord Jesus Christ."  
  
"Jesus has not abandoned me," I said.  
  
I slept in a huge room with many bunk beds. There were two rooms, one for men and one for women. I hoped that the guy who was contacting me in my dreams would contact me again. He did not.  
  
I woke up before sunrise, due to the fact that someone sounded a very loud horn. I was still groggy.  
  
"We leave in thirty minutes," said Paul Hill. "Let's get ready to go."  
  
I got dressed in the clothes that the Sword of the Lord provided me, and then I got into this green Ford Explorer. Randall Simmons was driving the Explorer. We left the lodge and headed west on Highway 120, until we reached U.S. Highway 99 in Merced. We drove south as the subn rose to the east. We passed Fresno and Bakersfield. We then climbed over the Grapevine Pass. It was clear frpom the AAA map of California I was reading that we were headed somewhere in Los Angeles County.  
  
We left U.S. Highway 99 after entering the San Fernando Valley, going south on State Highway 7, which was known as the Sepulveda Freeway. I could seeon the map that the Sepulveda Freeway goes through Santa Monica, Culver City, and ends with State Highway 3 in Torrance. Traffic was getting a little heavy. We left the Valley through the Sepulveda Pass, passed Junctions 66 and 26.  
  
Finally, Randall took the 10 Freeway west, which headed for the Los Angeles International Airport. We did not go into the passenger terminal though; we went to a freight terminal.   
  
We drove along the roads in the airport, until we reached the Federal Express terminal. I saw boxes being loaded onto a Boeing 737 cargo plane.   
  
"This is it," said Paul. "This is our destination."  
  
I wondered what these people wanted to do with this Federal Express terminal. I had thought there would be a bombing, but none of us brought any explosives.   
  
"Okay," said Randall. "Let's move in!"  
  
So we did. The Swordsmen went into the hangar. Some of the Federal Express workers told us to halt. They were grabbed by the Swordsmen, and they stuck some sharp tool next to their throats.  
  
Randall motioned for us to get in, so I did. The Swordsmen tied up some of the Federal Express workers and put them in the cargo compartment of the plane.   
  
Randall then closed the door. he got into the pilot's seat.  
  
"Brother Damon," he said to this Negro fellow, "good work."  
  
"Hacking into their flight schedule was real easy," he said.  
  
So this was it. We were taking hostages, but why? I could see why they took a cargo plane. The airport has security procedures for passenger planes, at least I think so, but there were no metal detectors and no guards for cargo terminals.  
  
I was watching over the hostages. "hey you guys," said Damon. "We should get rid of their cell phones. One of them might get his hand free during the flight and notify someone."  
  
Some of the Swordsmen took cell phones from the workers and smashed them. I kept the Nokia cell phone I took from a worker into the pocket of my cargo pants.  
  
"Everyone," said Randall over a speaker. "We are ready to go."  
  
I took my seat and fastened my seatbelt. Soon, the plane was taxiing down the runway, and then was in the air.   
  
"Our destination will be San Francisco," said Randall. "Remember to make peace with Jesus."  
  
Something was definitely up. I wondered if these Swordsmen knew about it too.   
  
I felt the plane rise for a few minutes, and then we reached cruising altitude. I estimated there were forty minutes left until we reached San Francisco. I decided to walk over to the 737's cockpit.  
  
"Brother Randall," I said. "What demands will we be making?"  
  
"That is not your place, Brother Colin," Randall said. "You duty was to secure this jet."  
  
"And I did. But surely you can tell me our demands."  
  
"You were willing to lay down your life for Christ once, can you not do it again?"  
  
"I see," I said. I remembered that my duplicate had been believed to have been killed in the attack which killed the Pope last month.   
  
I looked outside the window in the cabin, and I could see the California coastline. Everything looked so small from up here. It had been along time since I had flown in a plane.   
  
I went inside the cargo compartment, telling the others that In just wanted to give some water to the hostages. One of them said, "Might as well. they should enjoy what is left of their life." I went to give them water and loosened the ropes they were tied with.  
  
"Don't move yet," I whispered. I then went to the others. No one suspected a thing for me. I guess my duplicate had a reputation for being a fanatic and a zealot, so they did not suspect anything from me.  
  
I then felt the plane descend. I guess we were approaching San Francisco. I looked out the window, and I couild see the San Francisco Bay on the starboard side, and the Pacific Ocean on the port side.  
  
I wondered if the FBI and the airport security had been notified of this event.   
  
I looked out the window. Everything appeared to be bigger now. I could see one of the bridges that connects the opposite shores of the San Francisco Bay, and can see the cars and trucks and vans driving along the bridge.   
  
"Soon and very soon, we shall see the King," said Randall. "Take a seat everyone."  
  
I did not. I went to the cockpit.   
  
I stood at the door. I saw Randall sitting at the controls. Ahead of the cockpit, I could see downtown San Francisco. I could see all the skyscrapers, which were buiolt on then hills.  
  
Then I saw there was no runway. Randall was flying in for an approach, but not to land the plane on an airport runway.  
  
He was going to crash it.  
  
The 737 was full of jet fuel; it would surely explode upon impact. He was going to kill us all!  
  
"Brother Colin," said Randall, "so you have joined me. Together, we shall be martyrs for Christ!"  
  
Wtihout warning, I grabbed Randall. Before he could move, I smahed his fasce with my elbow. Then I kneed him right in the groin! When he went down, I delivered a few more kicks and then stamped hard on the back of his neck, hearing a crunch as I did so.  
  
The others got up, shocked at what I had done.  
  
"Brother Colin turned traitor!" shouted Damon. "Get him."  
  
So I decided to fight them off. I useds my fists and feet as weapons. I even grabbed one of those sharp tools and started slashing away. I took down a few of them, but three of them surrounded me.   
  
For a moment it looked like that they would kill me, not the plane crash. But then, I got reinforcements. The people whom I untied joined my side, overpowering them and hitting them with pipes and stuff they got from the boxes. It was an all-out brawl. We managed to defeat them.  
  
I decided to go to the plane. The buildings of downtown San Francisco were dangerously close! I could see we were flying right towards the TransAmerica Pyramid.  
  
I remembered that I had to pull back on the yoke to get the plane up, so I did. I pulled up and increased the throttle.The nose was pointing up. I couild still see the TransAmerica Pyramid getting closer. I hoped that the 737 would miss the building.  
  
the TransAmerica Pyramid disappeared from my sight. I could see a blue sky above. We were safe.  
  
"Hey, we got them all tied up," said a woman in a Federal Express uniform.   
  
"Do you know how to land a plane?" I asked.  
  
"No," said the woman.  
  
"Does anyone?"  
  
None of them answered.  
  
This was it. There was enough fuel to stay up here for six hours. I could set the plane on a course over the Pacific, and then slide to the next world, and let the plane crash with all these Swordsmen.  
  
But these hostages were here, and I had to land the plane for them.  
  
I slid through many parallel universes. If anyone could learn on the fly, it was me.  
  
"I guess I'll have to learn to land this thing," I said.  
  
"I'll sit next to you," said an Asian man who did sit in the copilot's seat. "My name's Wing. I always wanted to learn how to fly planes. Now I guess I'll get a chance."  
  
I put on a headset and adjusted the radio. Wing told me what frequency to use.  
  
"This is Federal Express 103," said Wing. "We have a situation here. Some intruders took us hostage and we managed to secure the plane, but the pilots were not on board. We need assistance to land."  
  
"copy that, Federal Express 103," said someone from air traffic control in San Francisco. "We've cleared the runway for you."  
  
I turned the plane to the right and pressed the right rudder pedal as I increased the engine power. I could see the airport.  
  
"Line up the plane," said the air traffic controlman. So I moved the yoke to the left and right until the runway appaeared in the center of the cockpit window. "Reduce speed to one hundred fifty knots and lower altitude." I powered down the engines and pushed down the yoke. I saw the airspeed indicator go down. Four hundred knots. three hundred knots. Two hundred knots. One hundred fifty knots.   
  
"It's at one hundred fifty knots," I said.  
  
"Now engage flaps," said the air traffic controlman.   
  
I engaged the flaps by pulling down a lever marked "Flaps". "Okay, the flaps are down."  
  
"Stay at one hundred fifty knots. Make sure the white approach lights appear in front. When you are near the runway, pull the nose up."  
  
I looked at the runway ahead. I coild see lights right before the runway. some of them were red.  
  
"you're flying too low, Flight 103. Pull up!"  
  
I pulled up and increased the throttle a bit, and the plane climbed a bit until I saw the white lights. I was feeling the pressure, not a new feeling for me. I could see the tension on Wing's face. Then there was a beeping sound.  
  
"I think we should put the landing gears down," said Wing, as he pulled down a lever.  
  
The runway appeared closer and closer. I could see the police cars and fire engines on the runway.   
  
I then pulled back on the yoke even as the 737 flew over the runway. I felt a thud; the main landing gears must have touched the runway. I pushed forward, bringing the nose down and the nose landing gear touching the ground. The impact was hard, and I wondered if I broke the nose landing gear.  
  
We were now taxiing down the runway at over one hundred fifty knots. We were on the ground, but I did not know how to stop.  
  
I looked at the throttle, and there was this second lever on it for reverse thristers. I pulled it, and the plane slowed down considerably. I also pushed down on the foot pedals. The 737 slowed down until it came to a stop on the runway. Police cars and fire engines surrounded the plane.  
  
"Well," said Wing, "at least I'm home."  
  
"I haven't even eaten breakfast yet," I said.   
  
We all activated the emergency slide, and we slid down to meet the police officers. None of them suspected that I had escaped from a mental institution yesterday. The police went on board the plane to take the hijackers.  
  
"So you were the one who rescued these people," said a police officer. You're a hero."  
  
I told them that I had been caught up in their hostage taking, and I managed to overpower them and retake control of the plane. It was the truth.  
  
I still had a few hours to kill, so I took the BART train to San Francisco. I decided to go to a Irish tavern near Golden Gate Park. My brother and I went there sometimes.   
  
I was served a steak and some french fries, as well as Budweiser beer. There were some people here, including some San Francisco police officers. I saw a news report on today's events.  
  
"A hijacking by the Sword of the Lord was foiled just today," said a news reporter. "A Federal Express cargo jet was hijacked by people from that terrorist group. During the flight, the hostages freed themselves and fought the terrorists to regain control of the plane. With instruction from air traffic control as San Francisco International Airport, they managed to land the plane.  
  
"The Reverend Paul Hill, founder of the Sword of the Lord, was finally arrested. He was pulled over by the CHP on U.S. Highway 99, near Gorman. When they scanned his fingerprint and found a warrant out for his arrest, he was taken into custody. He is expected to be delivered into FBI custody by this evening.  
  
"There is still one person out on the loose. He is Colin Mallory, a follower of the Reverend Hill. He was reported missing frok the Gate Haven Insanity Quarantine Center where he was undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. He was convicted ealrlier this year of thje attempted assasination of King Leonard and the murder of his aide Kelly Welles."  
  
"That's jim!" shouted a police officer. "Get him!"  
  
There were only a few minutes left before my slide. I ran out of the bar and down the street and into Golden Gate Park, with police officers and others chasing me. I ran and ran as fast as I could. I could feel myself being detached frokm this universe. Finally, I got tired, and lay down. I was in front of a statue, the plaque identifying the statue of that of King Samuel.  
  
Then I felt even more dizzy. when I regained my balance, I noticed the statue was different. It was a statue of a man named Abraham Lincoln. I was in the next world, and I still had my head.  
  
I saw a crowd lined down the street running next to the park. I decided to check it out, as I had a few hours on this world, which was not enough time to find Quinn.   
  
there was confetti and balloons all around. It looked like there was a parade. I saw two police officers watching, duplicates of the ones who were chasing me in the previous world. People were carrying signs reading "Welcome Back from the Red Planet" and "San Francisco Cheers Hometown Hero".   
  
"Hey," someone said. I looked and saw a teenage girl.  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"You looked just like him."  
  
I saw him less than a minute later. He was riding in a red Cadillac convertible, like the one Rembrandt used to drive. He was riding with some dignitaries, whom I figured was the mayor and maybe the governor. I saw him wearing a NASA uniform. I saw his face.  
  
He was my duplicate. 


End file.
